


under the streetlights

by winter_angst



Series: Hunger of the Pine Inspired [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Political Animals
Genre: F/M, M/M, Matchmaker Natasha Romanov, Meet-Cute, Recreational Drug Use, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:00:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25835392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: A one night stand turns into something more.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Series: Hunger of the Pine Inspired [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1886536
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	under the streetlights

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hunger of the Pine (Hiatus)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4548624) by [kalika_999](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999). 



> Special thanks to Kali for allowing me to use her awesome fic as inspiration. Love you lots ❤️❤️❤️

“So what’s your story?”

Brock propped his head up on his hand as he assessed the man lying in his bed, still winded from Brock riding him. He looked over, street lights from the window above the bed illuminating his face. Brock thought he was good looking in that rough and tumble way he was so weak for. Sharp jaw lines, defined cheekbones, pine green eyes and a delectable scar. 

“My story?”

“Yeah. And maybe your name. Didn’t catch that at the club.”

Brock reached for his cellphone and the dime bag beside an empty Gatorade bottle. He brushed off three condom wrappers and grabbed one of the fake credit cards that always came in the mail boasting bogus credit lines. Brock put them to good use — quite frequently — so he couldn’t really complain. 

“Jack,” his bedmate said reluctantly like he was giving far too much information.

Brock wouldn’t have cared either way really. But his dick was thick and long with a slight curve that hit all the right places and Brock had really enjoyed their evening together. 

“Nice to meet you Jack.” Brock tapped his index finger to sprinkle some of the fine white powder onto the screen of his iPhone. “I’m Brock.”

“What are you doing?”

Brock collected the powder with the card edge and began to cut lines. “About to rail some lines. Want in?”

Jack shook his head and directed his eyes forward. Brock rolled up his bedside twenty and snorted the first of three lines. Immediately the back of his nose, tongue and his throat went numb and Brock felt re-energized, more focused, more relaxed… 

“You sure?” Brock asked again, holding out the rolled up bill. “It’s good shit. My dealer — she doesn’t mess around, man.”

“I’m okay.” Jack said and Brock railed the second line. 

He felt good. No, better than good. He wanted to be fucked and he also wanted to go back to the club. A glance at the clock told him that was impossible — it was nearly four am. So, with a slightly heavy heart, he took his last line. Licking his thumb he swiped it over his phone screen to ensure each granule was in his body, rubbing his thumb over his gum. It tingled and Brock put the phone back, rolling over to grin at Jack.

“So, tell me your story! You’re a great lay, don’t ruin it with being all quiet and mysterious.”

Jack almost smiled. “I don’t usually do this.”

“No way, really?” Brock tried to put on his best shocked face but it was difficult. “You’re definitely a newbie. Most people follow the social law of ‘cum and run’.”

For the first time Jack looked startled. “Do you want me to leave? I’m so sorry — ”

“No,” Brock drawled. “I like you where you are. Still want you to fuck me in a bit. Just curious is all.”

“Well, I’m Jack,”

“We’ve already established that.” Brock cut in, giving his thigh a friendly shove. 

Jack rolled his eyes playfully and continued on. “The only reason I went to the club was because my friends made me.”

“Ah, chronic introvert, then?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“That’s exactly what a chronic introvert would say.”

Jack huffed out a breath but his lips curved upward for a moment. “They think I spend far too much working and taking care of my kid brother.”

“Ooh siblings? Do they look like you?”

“Just one. He’s special needs, needs a lot of attending to, especially in the summer.”

Brock didn’t have any experience with those kinds of situations but he was still empathetic. “Sounds like you’re a pretty good guy.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Jack mumbles, looking down.

“Listen, I’ve had my fair share of degenerates and jerks sitting right where you are. I can call a good one from a mile away.”

Jack huffed out a breath and, as Brock suspected, lobbed the question right back at him.

Brock sighed dramatically. “Daddy issues, as you can tell. And mommy issues, if I’m being honest. Dad was a violent drunk, mom ran away, boo fucking hoo, right? I was raised by my Nonna — I’m Italian in case you couldn’t tell — and she was a real good lady. Raised me the best she could. She passed a few years ago and I got a nice chunk of inheritance. Then I sold the house and got a nice chunk of money and now I run a gym and fuck guys twice my age.”

For the first time Jack looked alarmed. “How old are you?”

“Jailbait scares you huh?” Brock grinned. “Now I know you’re one of the good ones. Twenty one.”

“Oh,” Jack looked relieved and then a bit annoyed. “I’m only thirty.”

“I said I fuck guys twice my age, I didn’t say you were one of them.”

Jack made a noise of agreement so Brock quickly tacked on, “You don’t look a day over twenty, darling.”

“Flattery doesn’t work on me.” Jack countered.

“How about blow jobs?”

“Those definitely do.”

•• •• •• ••

Brock rapped his knuckles against Apartment 24B and waited for Natasha to answer. She’d texted him around nine am saying she had gotten her restock and had a little something-something she thought he’d like.

He had showered after his early morning work out, hitting the bags and chatting with his gym  
buddies, so his hair was still damp. Natasha opened the door and Brock grinned. She was hot, that couldn’t be disputed. She had her long red hair resting on her shoulders. Today she wore black wrap around shirt with a plunging neckline exposing just enough of her breasts to draw people’s eyes. Her black leggings complimented her wide hips and long legs. But her beauty was a distraction; she was dangerous and incredibly smart. Which was why she was one of the best dealers in the city. 

“Hey, c’mon in.”

She turned to lead the way and Brock got the chance to admire her from behind. He wasn’t interested in women but he knew attractive when he saw it. Either way she was far from single. For almost four years now she’d been shacked up with Clint. It was an odd relationship but balanced. 

Clint was harmless and Natasha could probably kill a man with her bare hands. 

They went directly to her bedroom. Purple and black seemed to be the theme but Brock wasn’t there to judge home decor. 

“What’s this little something special you talked about?”

Natasha pulled a big lockbox from her closet. She knew she could trust Brock and that was why he had the luxury of going to her home to pick up. And sometimes he came over just to hang with Clint and Nat and his service dog Lucky. After all Natasha was his friend first and then his dealer. They’d been high school buddies back in the day. (and by back in the day he meant three years ago)

“Percocets. 10mg. Not for fun, Rumlow. It’s for if you get hurt doing that ridiculous MMA shit.”

“Natasha, I can assure you, I will most likely not abuse these and then ask for more later.” Brock grinned because he wouldn’t and he liked to bug her. Popping pills wasn’t for him.

She squinted at him and then sniffed seeing through his ruse. “You’re hysterical.” she deadpanned. “I’ve never laughed so hard in my life.”

Brock shrugged. “Guy’s gotta try. How much?”

“$30 each.”

“Gimme ten. Also, I need more carts and a few dime bags.”

Natasha gave him a side eyed as she unlocked the box. “You sharing?”

“Last few hookups,” Brock said honestly. He kept his useage recreational. He wasn’t going to destroy his body after all, he just liked to have fun. “I’m good Nat. You know that you’d be able to tell if I wasn’t.” 

“And I’ll know if you go behind my back and buy from other people,” Natasha said, an extra unnecessary deterrent. 

“Cross my heart hope to die.” 

“I’ll stick my knife right through your eye,” Natasha finished opening the lock box. 

She sorted it all quickly and Brock shoved the paraphernalia into his pocket after passing over the money. 

“Don’t be stupid with those pills,” Natasha reminded him again.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not going to stop worrying.”

“Well that’s just depressing.”

“Shut up Brock.”

“As you wish, Princess.”

They walked out of the hallway and suddenly there was a kid staring up at him with chocolate locks and blue gray eyes. 

“Natty I wanted to show you my picture! Who’s your friend?”

“A picture!” Natasha cried like it was the most incredible thing ever. 

“TJ!”

Brock froze. He knew that voice. Then Jack was coming around the corner. He caught sight of Brock and just stared. 

“Jack, Natty has a friend!”

“I… I see that buddy.”

It wasn’t often that Brock was tongue tied but currently, at this moment, he had no idea of what to say. Nothing felt appropriate. That night in bed was something that was meant to remain in the dark recesses of night. A place of sinful indulgence that turned ugly when exposed to sunlight. 

“You two know each other.” Natasha could read a room better than anyone in the world but Brock didn’t think it was too hard to feel the tension between them. In fact, it was damn near fucking visible. “Well, Brock, come sit back with us. Have a beer or two.”

“I gotta get back to the gym…”

“It’ll be just fine without you. I insist.”

(read: you’re not fucking leaving until I say so) 

Brock sighed quietly. “Yeah. Beer. Beer sounds good.”

“Do you want to look at my picture?” the little boy — TJ, Jack said — asked looking earnestly at Brock.

“Uh, sure thing kid.”

“My name is TJ! It’s short for Thomas James and-and my last name is Rollins which has seven whole letters! It’s almost the longest name in my class!” the kid chattered. “I drew this! Look!”

The kid was loud. Brock was still trying to process all the words said far too quickly as he took the picture in his hands. It was two stick people, their arms connected so Brock figured that they were holding hands. One was taller and he figured that was Jack. There was what looked like a house behind them and a big yellow sun with a smiley face. 

“Pretty fucking good, kid.” 

Jack made a noise and TJ’s went as wide and dinner plates. “Uh oh you said a big no-no word.”

It took a second for Brock to realize the error of what he’d said.

“Ah, shit — fuck! — I-I mean I didn’t mean to.” 

Jack looked peeved and Brock figured the positive was that he was capable of emotion. 

“You gotta put three quarters into the swear jar,” TJ told him with a grave nod of his head.

“You’re right, I really do.” 

Brock rubbed the back of his neck as Natasha herded them to the living room. Lucky wagged his tail and Clint waved. The coffee table was cluttered with paper and crayons — clearly TJ’s artistic station. 

It was weird to sit on the overstuffed couch without a dab pen or a bong in his hands. Natasha had a rule against any drug other than pot being done in her living room. Clint was the best to get high with but Natasha never touched the stuff. Clint made the best edibles in New York City and that was his contribution to Natasha’s business. He made a mental note to message him about getting more gummies. 

Jack settled on the opposite side of the couch and Natasha took the second easy chair (Clint was in the other wrapped up in a purple throw for some reason, watching reruns of Chopped). TJ crawled under the coffee table and up onto the couch sitting far too close to Brock. He didn’t have space to slide over so he offered an awkward smile. 

“You gotta tell me your name now.”

“Oh. I’m Brock.”

“How many letters is your last name?”

“Six.” 

“Yes!” TJ looked elated and he clamored over the other side of the couch to share the news. 

“So where do you two know each other?” Natasha asked when TJ was back to coloring, the tip of his tongue peeking out as he concentrated.

“Prior...activities.” 

“Oh thank God. I was getting worried you were never gonna mmhmm again.” Clint said and Jack shot him a dirty look. “What? I was kid friendly about it.”

“Was it good?” Natasha sipped her beer as if she hadn’t asked the most intrusive question possible.

“I — that’s private.”

Brock grinned. He never minded people being blunt. “Better than good.” he offered and Jack gawked. “What? It was. Don’t undersell yourself, Killer. I was feeling it for a few days after.”

Jack burrowed his face in his hands. Brock felt a little bad for embarrassing him but clearly they were among friends. 

“What are the chances we have the same friends?” Brock marveled aloud. “I mean, Jesus. There are millions of people in this city and yet here we are.”

“Star crossed lovers,” Clint said. “It’s fate.”

Jack looked even more embarrassed and Brock considered it. “Well you are, so far, the only one who doesn’t come and run.”

Jack shot him a filthy look and gestured to TJ who was still very much absorbed in his art. “Now that is a sign.” Natasha agreed. “When’s the next date?”

“Oh.” Brock was suddenly tongue tied. “I mean, I don’t think that Jack is looking for that.”

“Funny you should say that. Jack was just talking about how badly he wanted to meet someone.”

Brock was someone. Jack looked absolutely mortified and Brock had a funny feeling he was the kind of guy who got too into his head to ever ask. 

“Hell with it, you wanna do a date thing? I mean, do it right. Dinner and candles and sh—stuff.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “I — really?”

“Sure. I’m curious about you. I might be an open book I promise there’s interesting stuff about me I haven’t told you yet. Plus, this one,” he gestured towards Natasha who looked cool as cucumber but her green eyes were bright with happiness. Brock never took her for a matchmaker. “Won’t ever let it go.”

“Trust him, she won’t.” Clint contributed. 

Jack smiled a bit, just enough for Brock to know he wasn’t feeling forced into it. “I think I’d like that.”

Brock grinned. Well how about that.


End file.
